


Send In The -

by paperclipbitch



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gen, M/M, ahahaha oh god, possibly a little AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You should smile,” he suggests, considering getting out the potato peeler ‘cause hey; that one’s got a </i>wicked<i> punchline.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Send In The -

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on LJ December 2008] I was prompted with "Stockholm Syndrome" and this was what came out. Thought it was an appropriate time to move this over ;)

+

They could sit in this room forever. For _ever_. 

Try and outstare each other and maybe this room only exists in their heads but nobody’s sure whose head it is and hey; maybe this _really_ happened after all.

He smiles, a real one; all the _best_ stories begin with a mystery.

…And end with one hell of a punchline.

+

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“ _No_.”

“Sure?”

“ _Yes_.”

“It’s ok, I s’pose. It wasn’t very funny. In the end it turns out the girl is _actually_ a guy. Or the guy’s sister.”

 

“You’re supposed to _laugh_. Nobody knows how to _laugh_ these days.”

\+ 

He’s got knives everywhere – you can trust knives, they’re a fun game that only one person needs to play; solitaire with edges – and one flicks between his fingers.

The _Batman_ would prefer silence, if they’re going to do this at all, but brooding silences are so very dull. Nobody’s laughing if things are dull. And if nobody’s laughing then there isn’t any point.

“You should smile,” he suggests, considering getting out the potato peeler ‘cause hey; that one’s got a _wicked_ punchline. “The world would be prettier if everyone smiled, don’t you think? ‘Course, I wouldn’t have a place in a pretty world like that, no one thinks I’m pretty at all.”

The dark eyes are getting incredulous. Talk long enough and they fall into the _flow_. This is like stand-up, only there can be maiming, which is the _really_ funny part.

“You wanna know how I got like this?”

The dark eyes remain fixed on him. He wonders if it’s hot in the mask. It’s kind of hot in his mask, only he isn’t wearing one; _oh_ yes, the screams of terror.

“‘Course you wanna know. _Everyone_ wants to know about the _star_ of the show.”

That gets the start of a reaction; a twitch at the corner of that determined mouth. Set in a line. He wants to cry _oh, smile, smile_ , or maybe take the end of a corkscrew to that line and make it curve a little. Lines break. Curves just let the drops fall right off. He knows things, see?

“So there’s this guy, ok; desperate I guess, switchblade in his hand, string of pearls around his wrist – _crazy_ , I know – and he gets the money fast enough but there’s still something missing, right? And he says: _hey, smile, or the cops’ll think something’s up_ and I tried, really I did… guess I didn’t smile wide enough but it’s ok ‘cause he made sure I’m always happy happy _happy_.”

…And then there were pearls all over the alley and mom’s dead face and well, maybe this isn’t _his_ story any more.

+

His thumb grazes the slickness of paint on his lower lip, mouth painted to twice its size but be larger than life and the rewards’ll be twice as _big_ ; someone promised that once. 

The Batman’s eyes don’t waver, maybe there’s meant to be some kind of _reconditioning_ going on here. So he grins, red paint on white teeth.

“What,” he begins, “What _ever_ happened to Harvey Dent? _I_ believed in him.”

He claps his hands; remember Peter Pan? _I believe, I do, I do._ When he licks his lips, the greasepaint tastes salty on his tongue; still red, and he tastes where the fist connected with his mouth. 

The Batman has crimson smudged on his black glove. _Ah_ , tipping points.

+

“I think you did it to yourself. In front of a mirror one afternoon. Because you’re insane.”

“ _Boring_.”

+

He won’t ask _shouldn’t I be dead?_ because he won’t like the answer. It will be dull, and the Batman will have some kind of rational explanation. He’s still being rational; fucking _dull_ , there’s not actually any space for _rational_ in anybody’s world, and donning a cape and playing at being a kid is really the act of a crazy man.

Why anyone would want to be a kid is stupid, childhood always ends with bloody knives and anyway he made that one _up_ , right?

“You’re too keen on alibis,” he tells the Batman. “That’s _your_ problem.”

The Batman shifts his shoulders in a way that isn’t a shrug. 

\+ 

“So, how long are we doing this for?”

He attempts his most winning smile; the one that cracks the drying paint around his eyes. People have _screamed_ at this smile; fear and comedy don’t tend to entwine well. That’s why his wife left or else she was just part of a convoluted anecdote no one listened to anyway.

The dark eyes blink, once. “For as long as it takes.”

“Not an answer,” he singsongs.

He thinks he’s bleeding. That, or the paint’s gone runny.

 

The Batman has copious faults; no sense of humour _at all_.

+

The warm-up act has gone; patience has fled and _ooh_ , the main performance is pretty fucking predictable. He gasps it out, and gets a dislocated shoulder for the privilege. 

“Is this going to _fix_ me?” He chokes on laughter, ribs cracked; the Batman is ever efficient, ever brutal. That’s how hilarious this story really is; _he’s_ the goddamn hero. 

“You _can’t_ be fixed.” The Batman’s mouth is too close; his teeth glint, and his grimace is so close to a real smile.

It’s a provocation; and the joke is stale now anyway. Time for a new one, and this one’s got a pretty _twist_. He still laughs a little – half the humour’s in the anticipation – and the clash of lips and teeth is _educational_.

“You don’t taste _nearly_ self-righteous enough,” he observes. 

The black mask isn’t even askew.

+

“I’m not dead ‘cause you’d _miss_ me.” 

The Batman says nothing; he has red smudged across his mouth – paint and blood and _guilt_ – and hell, maybe he’ll _tell_ this one when he gets out.

(Well, the punchline could use a little work, but there’s still time. There’s still _lots_ of time, and no one’s going anywhere.)

 

The Batman _will_ smile. Everyone does, in the end.

+


End file.
